


Little Touches of Home

by akasafeword



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akasafeword/pseuds/akasafeword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is just a short little thing I wrote because I was anxious about seeing Hannah kiss Cas in the preview for 10x07. I know Cas can't fly right now but I liked including that and since this was gratuitous self-care I took license with that.</p>
<p>No specific spoilers other than that.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Little Touches of Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short little thing I wrote because I was anxious about seeing Hannah kiss Cas in the preview for 10x07. I know Cas can't fly right now but I liked including that and since this was gratuitous self-care I took license with that.
> 
> No specific spoilers other than that.

Chuck valued watching what his children did with their ability to choose. He still knew, generally speaking, what they would choose. But things still sometimes played out in ways which surprised him.

He was unsurprised by Hannah, who in her burgeoning humanity, flung herself at Castiel. He was unsurprised by Castiel gentle, yet firm, rebuke of her. He was unsurprised that, after this, they were free to become closer in other ways - to bond in ways that were more…angelic, less tied to the flesh as Hannah had first mistakenly believed was necessary.

He was surprised, however, when he saw the wheels begin to turn in Hannah’s head. He chuckled to himself when she first approached Castiel, blunt and forward as she ever was. Hannah and Castiel were not made from the same template, not really, but she had began to understand the conflicts raging within Castiel. Maybe it had been the mind reading from his more human moments - but then again, perhaps not.

"Castiel." Hannah’s voice was steady, serious.

"Hm?" Castiel looked up from the map he was scrutinizing, folded at odd angles between himself and the wheel of his car. There was a pause.

"You are ill." Castiel cocked the eyebrow nearest Hannah, but did not look up from his map.

"Less than I was."

Hannah nodded, very slightly. She slowly turned her head to examine him.

"Castiel."

"Hm?"

"You are in love."

"Mm." Castiel was in the middle of marking a note on his map awkwardly against the steering wheel. He jerked up a moment later, eyes wide, turning to Hannah. The horn blared from under his hand as his mouth opened. Castiel grimaced, pulling his hand away from the car quickly.

"I told you. Metatron can not be trusted." He sighed. "Hannah, as I said, I have made deals bef-"

He halted, puzzled, because Hannah had cocked her head to the right slightly and was staring at him. He fidgeted - actually fidgeted - under her unblinking stare.

"Castiel." Her voice was softer now, almost pitying. He bristled, and sat up straighter, brushing the lapels of his trenchcoat smooth.

"I did not think angels could love." Hannah continued. "Well. We are creatures of love, and so what reason would we have to be in love?” She seemed to be puzzling this as she spoke. Castiel began to reply, but she was still talking, staring. “Perhaps it was your time as a human, or your grace missing. Or that you really did come of the line broken.”

Castiel stiffened at this. He knew his brothers and sisters spoke of it, of course. Most did not speak of it to him..

"I suppose it is not of import." Now Hannah’s head straightened on her shoulders. "You are in love."

Castiel did not respond. He swallowed.

——————————————————————————————————

"I can’t even imagine it, man. Aren’t they siblings?” Dean made a face like he was trying to remove expired peanut butter from the top of his mouth using only his tongue.

Sam shook his head a bit and shrugged, not looking up from his computer.

"I don’t know, Dean. Maybe that’s not exactly how Heaven works. I mean, it’s been centuries since there were enough angels in vessels for a long enough time for this to be an issue. If it’s ever been an issue before.” He paused again. “Besides, to some people even that doesn’t matter.”

Dean scrunched his shoulders back and turned to Sam, aghast.

Sam looked up and met his eyes briefly. “Wincest.”

Dean groaned. “But that was at least fiction, Sam!”

Sam did not respond.

Dean went back to preparing another coffee, muttering. He brought one to Sam and sat down across from him, pushing the coffee over to him.

Without looking up, Sam nodded his thanks. But when the coffee was almost to his mouth, he took a deep breath and then chuckled, looking at the coffee, then over to the counter Dean had just come from.

"I can’t believe you’re using that thing."

"Hey!" Dean replied sharply, "I won it. free, Sam! So it’s got a fancy name I can’t pronounce and you have to use individual little coffee…” Dean scrunched his face, searching for the word “pods…cups…things.” He takes a pointed sip of his coffee. “It was free and it’s delicious.”

"Okay, Dean." Sam smiles and laughs.

They do little more than chit-chat after that, Sam looking for cases, Dean wandering around the kitchen area and cleaning. Eventually Sam wanders off to shower or do his own thing, and Dean - after making sure Sam is nowhere to be found - opens a drawer as far as it will go, digs under some things, and pulls out a small plastic cup. The foil on top reads “Chai Tea” and Dean hurriedly pups it in the Keurig and sets it to brew.

He’d told Sam they were out of the tea ones a week ago. He really hoped Sam was gone long enough that the smell didn’t clue him in - actually…yeah, good, he thought as he turned on the air vent over the stove, sliding the machine a bit closer as he did so.

It’s about then that his phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pants and opens the message app. Near the bunker. May I visit?

Dean responds 'course. How far out are you?

There is no response, and Dean gets distracted by his tea and carefully disposing of the evidence under a layer of last weeks leftovers. Just as he’s closing the lid on the trash can the sound of a knock at the bunker’s door reverberates through the kitchen, and he startles.

It turns out to be Cas, though. Dean smiles as he opens the door.

"Cas!"

"Hello, Dean." Cas smiles and nods his head down slightly in response.

Dean open’s his mouth to reply when he falters.

"Hello, Dean." Hannah is standing just behind Cas. Like, really just behind Cas.

"Oh. Hi." He responds, trying his best to keep the ‘GET OUT OF CAS’ ASS, HANNAH!’ that is playing in his head off of his face.

"Come in I guess." He leads the two of them into the bunker.

They’re about halfway down the stairs, Dean stomping maybe a little harder than is strictly necessary, when there’s a sudden thumping sound and, before Dean has managed to turn around successfully, he is caught squarely in the knees by a ball of trench coat which is now tumbling down the stairs.

Dean squeaks “Cas!” before his jeans and flannel are added to the ball of trench coat. They come to rest at the bottom of the stairs, Dean sprawled mostly on his back and left side, angel pitched at the waist at awkwardly over his hip, hands and face pressed against the floor. His blue eyes look up at Dean and the expression on his face is one of confusion, yes, but also something (or things?) else that Dean can’t quite pin point.

It’s then that the sound of laughter reaches Dean. He shoots his eyes up to Hannah, standing a few steps up the stairs, her hands crossed over her abdomen. She is laughing, bent slightly forward, her shoulders convulsing. He feels Cas shift, turning his head and picking it up from the ground slightly to eye Hannah. Even from this position Dean can tell that his head is cocked slightly towards one shoulder.

"What are you laughing at!" Dean spits, pushing himself up on his elbows. Ow. He’s going to be tender.

Hannah continues to shake, though less so, and she extracts one arm to wipe quickly at her eyes.

"It’s just - this." She gestures down at them with both her hands. "Every time Castiel falls you catch him." She sobers a bit, and the continues, more quietly. "Although not very well."

Dean opens his mouth to respond to her initial gesture, and then goes silent. He glances down at Cas, who happens to be glancing at him at the exact same time.

"Uh." Dean says, tensing.

"I’m sorry, Dean." Cas begins as he pushes himself up off the floor, glancing back at Hannah again.

"Hannah?" Cas’ voice is a quick and concerned. Dean pulls his eyes off the angel, now looming over him on hands and knees, and sees that Hannah has turned around and is heading back up the stairs. She gestures over her shoulder with a hand.

"Stay, Castiel. You are ill and I have work to do. Fix your problem. When you are of use again, call." With that, Hannah has disappeared from the stairs. Everything is still for a moment and then there is the distinct sound of the bunker door closing solidly.

There is a cough from behind them. Dean cranes his head back to see the inverted figure of his gigantor brother standing just a few feet behind them at the same time as Cas whips his head around to do the same. Dean wonders vaguely if angels can give themselves whiplash.

"She’s got a point, guys." Sam says, and before Dean can respond he hefts his laptop bag from the floor next to him onto his shoulder. "I’m heading out. Gotta get this de-virusified. I swear to God, Dean, I’m getting you your own laptop and then you’re going to have to deal with the consequences of your porn." With that, Sam stops over them - literally, he just steps right over Castiel, still on his hands and knees, and disappears much the same way as Hannah had.

Dean clears his throat and Cas sits back on his knees to the side of Dean, looking a little sheepish. He glances down at him briefly before looking back up the stairs.

"Are you alright, Dean?"

Dean pushes himself up into a sitting position and grunts. “How does an angel fall down stairs, Cas?”

Castiel does not reply, just looks down and away. Dean sighs and squeezes his shoulder a bit, using it to push himself up and then reaching down to help Cas up as well.

"Want some coffee?" At this, Cas lights up.

"Yes, please, Dean." Dean grunts a response and they move back into the kitchen. Cas looks around, then removes his trench coat and places it on the back of a dining chair. Dean is still busy with the coffee, so he then adds his suit jacket to it. A moment more of glancing awkwardly around and he rolls his sleeves up to just below his elbows.

Dean still isn’t done. Castiel glances down and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. He glances up when he hears Dean’s breath hitch slightly.

Dean is staring at him, the machine behind him spitting coffee into a mug. Dean blinks and tries to seem relaxed.

"I guess Hannah learned some tricks from the mojo those witches used last month." Dean’s voice does not have a hard edge to it. None at all.

Cas cocks his head to the side, as he ever does when he does not yet understand. “I’m sorry, but I do not understand what you mean.”

Dean grunts just as the coffee maker quiets and he turns around, grabbing the mug and bringing it to Cas. He holds it out to Cas, and has to fully extend his arm to do so, he stops so far away.

"You pretty much never take off clothing. I mean, except when you were human I guess." Dean gestures with his chin at the jackets hung on the chair.

Cas sighs and shakes his head, taking the hot cup from Dean and leaning his hip against the table.

"We have spent little time together since my" he pauses, and amends "since I acquired grace." He takes a sip of the coffee and his eyes flutter closed, long eyelashes framed in a haze of steam from the cup.

"Thank you, Dean." He breathes, and takes another sip of the coffee.

Dean swallows, and makes a sound of acknowledgement in Castiel’s general direction.

There is a prolonged silence in which Cas is intently focused on his coffee, hip pressed against the table, and looking more human than Dean has perhaps ever seen him - at least, outside of when he was dying and/or deathly ill.

"I thought you were dead, Cas." A beat. "Again."

Cas lowers his hands with his coffee to below his waist, and looks at Dean. He doesn’t say anything, and Dean turns away, leaning back against the table himself, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I’ve watched you die so many times, Cas." He sighs, and it is not deep but shallow and shaky. "It’s like watching Sammy die, except there’s never anything I can do to stop it. Archangels. Lucifer. Raphael. Leviathan. You. Metatron. Every time.” He shakes his head and drops his head to his chest, his eyes closing and a furrow drawing across his forehead. “I thought you were dead again. But it was okay, because I was dead too.”

Castiel stiffens beside him, but still does not respond. So Dean goes on, even more. It he’s lost him to Hannah, well, it’s better that way. Might as well say what he has to say. Then he can help Cas figure out how to get his grace back (which he’s sure is what Hannah had meant as she left) and then…then…he swallows.

"But I was worse than dead." Dean’s mind is a train running away with all of the things he had done as a demon.

"You were a demon, Dean." Castiel replies, his voice firm and steady, though almost soft.

Dean laughs bitterly.

"It’s like you and Sam think I can forget that. It’s just…" he glances at Castiel, who is staring at him. Cas responds by lifting his coffee to his lips, not looking away from Dean.

"I was a demon. Yeah. But…the demon was me, Cas. It was the most me that I have ever been.”

The silent moments drag on, and Dean wonders when the hell they got a ticking clock and where it was located, because he’d really like to smash it at the moment. Just as he pushes himself off from the table he’d been leaning against, Cas speaks.

"The demon is inside you." It’s a statement, and the tone seems more neutral than Dean could believe possible.

"Yeah. I always knew Sam wasn’t the monster." Cas’ eyes widen, but Dean barrels on, walking over to studiously examine a bookshelf. He begins speaking to the books there.

"Sammy had it forced on him, you know? He had no choice. I’ve always just walked right into it. It wasn’t even just after I died, Cas." He turns around, and his voice is shaky but not breaking. He’s been giving this a lot of thought.

"I’m a soldier, it’s all I’m good for. A soldier for Heaven and then a soldier for Hell. I’ve killed monsters, yeah. And I’ve killed monsters who were more people than most people. I watched myself willingly sacrifice you, Cas." If his voice breaks, he pretends it doesn’t. “The truth is the things I did as a demon weren’t any different than the things I’ve done as a human. Sex and violence and blood. It’s just that I stopped apologizing for them.” The last part is soft, almost a whisper, an admission that can only be let out in one, single breath. He’s breathing deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists, his eyes staring at the ground in front of Castiel’s feet.

"I don’t know how to be back, because I’ve never known how to be anything but a monster."

Castiel sets his coffee on the table and pushes himself away. He steps the few feet to Dean, and simply stands in front of him. When he starts, his voice is quiet, but not weak.

"When the other angels speak of me - and it’s been for millenia now, Dean - it is as the broken one. I believe the description of choice is that I ‘came off the line with a crack in my chassis’." Dean looks up, startled, and his mouth drops open, but Castiel simply keeps talking, watching Dean. "Long before I tried to play God, centuries before I laid siege to Hell to retrieve your soul."

Dean stiffens a bit, and glances away briefly, but Cas keeps talking - low, even, steady.

"The events of the past years have caused me to consider this extensively. My father, absent though he may be, is nonetheless renowned for arranging things in a pattern neither angels nor humans are very good at deciphering. I have had to come to believe that perhaps I was meant to be broken."

Dean laughs, and it is a bitter sound. “Fuck, Cas, what kind of justice is that?” He scoffs, his fists balled tightly against his thighs.

He didn’t notice Cas move towards him. Into his personal space. He almost never noticed that, these days. Dean did, however, notice when Cas firmly lifted his chin, meeting his eyes. For a long moment, Cas just stared into Dean, and Dean swallowed, his eyes and jaw both set and hard. He wondered briefly if the angel could still see into his soul, and if so, would he finally abandon Dean to be the monster he knew he was?

It was when he finally closed his eyes, unable to turn his head away with the angels obscenely strong fingers on his chin, that it happened. At first, he didn’t feel it. But the warmth that brushed across his lips startled his eyes open, and yes, Cas was pressing his lips against Deans. It wasn’t soft and it wasn’t hard - it was firm and still and just there. Dean’s breathing stopped and he stiffened, though he could not pull back.

Cas’ eyes had been closed, but they opened and after several seconds (seconds which took lifetimes to come to pass) he pulled back just a bit, the back of his hand brushing against Dean’s jaw as he moved to rest his hand against the side of Dean’s neck.

Then, Cas shrugged slightly.

"I believe I am broken because only then could I come to know the wonders of love." Dean swallowed and could not speak.

Cas heard what he had to say regardless.

"Not with humanity, Dean. Not with Heaven. I was lost the moment I touched your soul." Dean startled backwards a step, and Cas let him go.

Laughing softly, Castiel continued.

"I believe my Father made me broken so that I could discover all the wonder in his creation."

He stood tall and looked Dean in the eyes.

"I love you, Dean Winchester. You believe yourself to be a monster but you have no idea how beautiful you are. One day, perhaps, you will come to your own understanding about why God keeps giving me back to you, despite the times you have watched me die."

Dean is standing, unable to move. Frozen. His brain is a record player with a broken needle and it can not catch on his thoughts. All that exists is the blue eyes and dark hair of an angel, an angel who has been as long a part of his family as he was not to Dean’s count.

Dean blinks, and with a soft flutter, when he opens his eyes, Castiel is gone.

——————————————————————————————————

When Sam comes back to the bunker he is grumpy to say the least. Busty Asian Beauties DOT FREAKIN’ COM has broken his laptop for the very last time. He had had to just go ahead and replace the entire hard drive, and had stayed out longer to put parental controls on his laptop. Jesus, Dean would be the death of him. Again.

The bunker was dark, and Cas’ car was gone, so he assumed they’d only stopped by briefly. Dean hadn’t called or texted him, though, so he was a bit surprised that he wasn’t home. Maybe he was out bar hopping - it had been a while since Sam had seen him hook up with anyone. Although, Sam was pretty sure that that was something that the demon version of his brother had done a lot of not too long ago, so he’d figured he just hadn’t got his groove back yet.

This being his train of thought, he had a gun leveled at the head of the shadowed figure sitting in the library as he passed it before the single syllable of Sam’s name had finished passing his lips. Sam moved through the doorway to the side of the wall and flicked on the lights.

Dean groaned and blinked long and slow a few times as the lights came on. Sam dropped his gun, then began to shove it back into his holster, frowning at Dean.

"You’re in the library?"

Dean glared at him.

"You’re sitting in the library, in the dark." Sam moved to the second plush chair near Dean was sitting. He cast his eye around the area, noted with surprise that there was a distinct lack of alcohol containers, but that Dean had actually moved the Keurig into the library, plugged it in, and that there was a carefully formed pyramid of used cups on the small end table between the chairs. 

"Hey! You said we were out of the tea!" Sam exclaimed as he settled down, dropping his laptop bag to the carpet.

"When did you buy slippers?” Sam asked incredulously.

"Not now, Sammy." Deans voice was low and tired. Sam cocked an eyebrow.

"How you feelin’?"

Dean made a bitch-face at Sam, and he seriously hoped that that wasn’t how his face looked when Dean accused him of bitch-facing. “That’s a stupid question, Sam.”

"Yeah, I know. I mean - is it the Mark?"

Dean grunted in what Sam knew (thanks to a lifetime of Dean’s stunted communication skills) was a negative.

"So what’s going on, Dean?"

Dean leaned forward and ran a hand over his face, his elbows resting on his knees and his shoulders scooping forward.

"Sam." Dean took a deep breath, wiped at his face again, and then sat up straight.

Sam was not going to panic. Sure, there was very little chance that any of this was a good sign, but Dean was here, and Dean was alive, and that alone was more than he’d had not that long ago. Unconsciously, Sam tried to make himself smaller and non-threatening in his own chair.

Shifting a little in his absurdly straight posture, Dean made solid eye contact with Sam and took a deep breath. Which is about the time that same noted, belatedly, the large pile of old books on the floor next to Dean’s seat, mostly obscured by the elaborate legs of the end table between them.

"I’m in gay love with an angel of the Lord, Sam."

Later, Sam would say that he had responded with appropriate brotherly support for Dean’s obviously painful admission. It would also be a complete and utter lie. What Sam did, in fact, respond with was a series of intense and various expressions on his face while he attempted to make his voice work, before giving up all together and laughing until he cried.

"You’re - you’re - gay love! - angel of the Lord, Dean?!” Sam choked out between sob-like laughter. Dean smiled, slightly, and began to laugh (just a bit) with Sam.

Minutes later, as the laughter drizzled to a stop and drained some of the tension from Sam’s body, he grew more serious, examining Dean closely.

"I’m sorry, Dean."

Dean raised an eyebrow and - he couldn’t believe it at first, but yeah, he had his head tilted to one side just like Castiel did. It seemed to not be what Dean had been expecting.

"For what?"

Sam sighed. “I’m not surprised, you know. I just thought you were too lost in Narnia to ever find your way out of that particular closet.” Dean bristled, but bit his lip before he could respond and instead pulled a new cup from out of nowhere, replaced his cup on the machine, and started another brew of coffee. No, tea. So Sam continued.

"What are you doing to do? Do we need to get you laid?" He paused, then his face lit up "Oh! Or ice cream. We could do ice cream and Star Wars."

Dean was looking at him with a confused expression again. “Sam…”

"No, no, it’s fine, I’ve been looking around and there really aren’t any cases it seems. We could even, I don’t know, get some really, really greasy burgers.”

"Sam!" Dean interjected. "I’m not a heartbroken teenage girl."

"You aren’t?" Sam responded automatically, and regretted it when Dean kicked him in the shin in response.

"No!"

"Well…then why the dark library? And all the" he gestured to the coffee pot "the tea, Dean?” He pointed directly at the compulsively built pyramid of used brew cups on the end table.

Dean muttered something unintelligible and brushed them angrily into a trash can he pulled out from under the table. Sam was almost sure he heard something about “'s nice” as he did so.

"I needed to read, Sam. For fucks sake." He pulled the pile of books off the floor and set them where his pyramid of caffeine had been.

"What are these?" Sam asked, already pulling the top one over to him and flipping open the cover.

When Dean did not immediately respond, he looked back towards him, surprised to see that Dean was slightly pink and rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. Dean caught him looking, and dropped his hand to his knee, shrugging.

"I needed to research?"

"Research what, exactly? Gay angel love?” Sam was disbelieving, and turned his attention back to the hand written book he was flipping through.

"Well. Kinda. Yeah. So what?" At that Sam’s eyebrows shot almost off his forehead. He carefully closed the leather cover of the book and leaned back in his chair, studying Dean.

"You can’t mean you’re actually going to tell him." Dean looks indignant and starts to puff up, but Sam continues. "Dean! Just because a bunch of people with no lives on the internet read the Carver Edlund books and think that you and Castiel have chemistry doesn’t mean that you actually DO. He is, as you pointed out, an angel of the fucking Lord. Or he was for long enough, anyway. He’s close enough now, and when he gets his grace back he will be again.” Sam softened his tone as Dean looked hurt, sinking back against his chair and staring into his fresh coffee as he clutched it near his chest, almost protectively.

Sam laughed, an anxious and empty sound. “I mean, you aren’t gay, Dean. You’ve been with more women than I could count even if I tried. You’re letting that Calliope thing get to you.” Dean made a noise in his throat, but Sam bowled him over. “No, I mean, I know I’ve been teasing you about it. I’m sorry. But it’s Castiel. He -“

at that point, Sam is cut off by the familiar sound of wings. He chokes on his words, and looks up to see Castiel standing to the right of Dean, trench coat still swaying slightly from the flight. He is staring at Sam, and Dean is curled up in his chair, still clutching his tea, gazing up at Castiel.

"Cas." Sam greets, trying to clear his throat and find his voice.

"Sam." Cas responds, still staring at him.

There’s a long, very awkward moment, and Sam kind of wonders how his brother stares down this particular angry angel so often, because all that Sam can think of is his eyes melting out of his face.

Finally, blessedly, Dean straightens up a bit. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel turns his head and looks down at where Dean is moving to rise, and smiles. “Hello, Dean.” Then his gaze is back on Sam.

Sam stands, grabbing the handle of his bag, and flees for the door. Over his shoulder he tosses a “See you guys later!”.

Once in the safety of his room (he even locked the door) he finally breathes, and shakes himself.

I think I need a shower.

——————————————————————————————————

Cas watches Sam flee the library, and by the time he turns back to Dean he has to look up to the taller man, surprised to find him as close as he is. He smiles again, and opens his mouth.

It’s then that Dean kisses him, and it’s different than earlier in the day when he had kissed Dean. It’s firm and restrained, but barely, and he snakes his arms around Cas’ shoulders, running a hand through his hair. Cas is caught off guard for only a moment, before he brings his hands to Dean’s hips and returns the kiss.

As his lips part slightly, Dean moves in, sucking his bottom lip between his own and then running the tip of his tongue over Cas’ own. Cas sighs softly and softens more - more human, less angel - and Dean pulls him even closer, holding their bodies tight. When their lips finally part, Dean rests his head against the hair at the top of Cas’ forehead. There is a small smile on his lips.

"So, I don’t know if you heard."

Cas does not respond, but looks curiously at Dean, leaning back slightly in their embrace to do so.

"I love you, Cas." Cas smiles, and Dean laughs softly, patting the back of his neck with a hand.

"I know." Cas responds, and Dean seems a bit surprised at that.

"Yeah?"

Cas reaches and twines the fingers of his hands between Dean’s.

"Yeah."

Dean squeezes experimentally, eyeing their hands. Then he looks back to Cas and grins. "Good. You got time to stay a while?"

Cas nods softly, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

"Good." Dean responds firmly. When Cas looks up he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“‘Cause I gotta say,” he leans in and places a soft kiss on Cas’ cheek, a soft blush rising to meet it. “I think Sammy could use some ‘I told you so’ and, well.” he pauses, nosing at the stubble on Cas’ cheek. “The things I’ve imagined you doing to me would be a good place to start.”

Cas blinks - once, twice. Dean starts to blush, and looks away, clearing his throat, suddenly embarrassed because he expected his boldness to be in his favor and he didn’t really feel it, not under everything, and -

there is a flutter and he looks around, startled.

Cas is already pushing him backwards onto his bed.


End file.
